Close to Midnight
by TakeMeOrLeaveMe2010
Summary: PreRENT. Mimi's first day at the CatScratch club. Rated because of the strip club, thanks to Tina101 for the idea. [oneshot].


**More one-shots!**

**Thanks Tina101 for the idea!**

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**Mimi's POV**

I walked briskly down Avenue B, pulling my fuzzy, leopard-print coat around me.

I soon came to the place, a shambled building with the word CATSCRATCH blazing in neon lights at the top.

Before I walked in, I said a little prayer. I needed this job, badly. I was a typical dreamer, coming to New York in hopes of becoming a dancer. Well, after a week on the streets, I was desperate for any sort of money that would at least allow me to find a place of my own. I met a girl on the street, Angel, a few days ago, and she graciously allowed me to stay at her place for now, but I knew I couldn't live there forever.

I shuffled in, and the smell of smoke, sweat, and alcohol almost gagged me. The club wouldn't open for a few more hours, but already the dance floor was lit and ready.

I glanced around at all, partly in shock, but mostly in awe. Then I noticed a short, burly man wiping down the bar.

I walked over carefully to him, wrapping my coat around me tighter, as if for protection.

I cleared my throat. "Excuse me? Do you run this place? I…I heard you were looking for dancers…"

The man laughed. "I guess you could call them dancers…"

Then he looked at me. He came out from behind the bar, then walked over to me slowly. He looked me up and down, circling me as well.

It was extremely uncomfortable, being analyzed like this. But all I did was force a smile and straightened up a bit.

"Skinny…long legs…nice face…" he muttered, now standing directly in front of me.

"How old are you…uh…"

"Marquez. Mimi…I'm eighteen," I lied automatically. I knew it was illegal to hire anyone under the age of eighteen, I looked it up before I came here. But I needed this job, and I was pretty convinced the managers weren't concerned about age for the most part.

He didn't look persuaded, but he continued. "So…you wanna be a dancer, huh?"

I nodded.

He gave me a smile, although there was a glint in his eye I didn't like.

"Come tonight for the first shift and let me see you work the floor. Then I'll tell you if you're right for this or not."

I held back my eagerness, and only murmured a "Yes, sir." and left the building.

I almost ran back to Angel's apartment with excitement. When Angel asked about it, I only told her the half truth. I knew she wouldn't like the idea of me giving old men lap dances, so I told her a got a dancing job and I started tonight, and that I needed to look good.

Angel lent me a gorgeous black dress that crossed in the back, and showed off my legs, and a pair of simple ballet flats. Then she sat me down in front of her mirror and added a small amount of makeup to highlight my eyes. She carefully brushed my hair, and pulled it back into a bun.

I glanced at myself in the mirror and gasped. Angel rested her head on my shoulder, grinning from ear to ear.

"You look beautiful, chica. Knock 'em dead."

I hugged her back, gave her a nervous smile, and headed out, ready to blow them away.

I walked into the club, my head held high, my confidence indisputable.

I think that was the last time I would I ever feel that way walking into that club.

The moment I walked in, I was swept up by the man I met earlier. I could barely hear him over the thumping beat, but he hurriedly shooed me into some dank dressing rooms on the side of the club.

I was rudely pushed aside by some girls being called for their number, but I gawked at them as they walked by.

They might as well have gone out there naked, because what they were wearing covered so very little. Their hip bones jutted out as they sauntered towards the dance floor, their faces gaunt.

_This is supposed to be sexy?_ I thought to myself. Yes, I knew this was a strip club, but still…

A tap on my shoulder snapped me out of my gaze, and I turned to face what looked like another…employee, but thankfully, she was smiling warmly at me.

"You're the new girl, right?" she asked.

I swallowed nervously, and nodded.

"Hi, I'm Amy. Bob told me to help you out tonight."

"Mimi, nice to meet you," I replied, but I didn't make eye contact with her. Frankly, I was scared out of my mind.

"So," Amy started, breaking the silence, "do you have anything to wear?"

I glanced down at my beautiful wrap dress, hoping it wasn't too flashy.

Amy laughed ruefully, and gave me a pitying look. "No, no, no. Let's get you something you'll actually look sexy in."

I felt hurt, but shook it off. Maybe she wasn't into dresses.

Amy rummaged through a rack of costumes, then pulled out a hideous black, sparkly bra, with a matching G-string.

"You've got nice legs, so this'll do for tonight," she said, thrusting it into my arms.

I took it, shocked speechless. Amy took me by my shoulders, and thrust me down into one of the plastic chairs in front of her mirror.

"Now…what to do about makeup…"

"Oh, I already have some on," I cut in.

Once again, she gave me a pitying look. "How old are you?"

"Eighteen."

"Honey, I don't give a shit how old you are."

"…sixteen," I answered after a while, hoping it would not come back to bite me.

"That's what I thought…" she mumbled, pulling out her makeup kit and facing me away from the mirror.

"There's a difference between looking good and looking like a stripper, honey," she told me as she caked makeup on my face and undid my bun, "when you walked in here, you looked good. But we need to make you look like a stripper."

Finally, she faced me toward the mirror. I was struck by the face staring back at me.

I definitely looked like a stripper now. Dark, black eye shadow circled my eyes, and blush was streaked over my cheek bones. My hair was wild and free, hanging loose around my shoulders and down my back.

Amy put her hands on her hips and leaned back, impressed by her work.

"Five minutes, ladies!" shouted a man from the end of the dressing room.

From then on before I went on stage, it seemed like a blur. Bodies were moving everywhere, checking makeup or adjusting outfits. I backed myself into a corner and slipped on my less-than-barely-there outfit.

Suddenly, me and Amy were swept up to backstage, then shoved out on to dance floor.

I was nearly blinded by the flashing lights, and almost went deaf from the loud, rocking music. I stumbled uncertainly to center stage, shaking my hips a little. I felt so naked and so awkward, not knowing quite what to do.

Amy sauntered behind me. "Pretend there's no one else here," she hissed in my ear.

"What?"

"Just do it!" she hissed back angrily, directing her attention back to the audience.

I reluctantly shut my eyes, trying to block out the smoke, the music, the sweat, the wolf whistles, everything. It took a while but finally it started to fade, and I opened my eyes. And though I could still see it, I could at least pretend I was alone.

I smiled seductively, letting my body twist and turn in ways I didn't think it could do. I mingled a bit with the other dancers, then rolled on the floor, shaking my hair this way and that, stretching my legs into a split.

Men waved money in my face. At first, I was a bit thrown off by this, but then when I realized some of those bills were fifties, I grasped everyone I could find and slipped it in my top.

I did this for about four hours, becoming exhausted but having a flirtatious smirk planted on my face the whole time. Finally, we waltzed off the stage.

I nearly collapsed on Amy's mirror, breathing heavily and sweat pouring from my forehead.

"Tired?" said Amy from behind me, handing me a bottle of water.

I nodded, still winded, and took it.

"Get used to it. Sometimes you'll have to do more than one shift."

I didn't answer and took a swig from the bottle. I sputtered, spitting out whatever the bitter liquid was back into the bottle.

"This…this is vodka!" I choked.

"I know," Amy replied with exasperation, "Water ain't enough to keep you going through the night."

I looked at her in disbelief, but didn't argue.

"How much did you get in tips?" she asked finally.

I had nearly forgotten about those. I pulled out all the money stuffed in my outfit, and was shocked to believe I made at least two hundred dollars.

"Not bad," said Amy, smiling softly, "You get more the more shifts you do, and this was your first night. You were pretty smokin' out there once you got the hang of it."

"You think so?" I said with doubt. I thought I had looked like a gawky, awkward teenager who didn't know how to dance.

But Amy continued to nod. "Oh yeah. It took a while, but once you got used to it all, you were stealing the show."

I smiled a bit. At least I sort of fit in.

Bob came into the dressing room. The room fell silently almost instantly. He looked at me directly.

"Marquez. You're hired."

Then he left without another word.

I breathed a sigh of relief. Sure, it wasn't the best job in the world. But a job's a job, right?

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